So this is pretty late, but a few weeks ago, I was on the road for a three-day weekend road trip. I took Friday off from work, and pointed the car down ye ol' Highway 101 to take in and make fun of some small town America.

(Sorry Small Town America, I know that I looked interested and made all the right noises, but I was faking it.)

There was also a lot in small town places that was surprisingly beautiful and attractive. If I could figure out what they did for money, there would be a lot to be said for small town living. Especially now that you have the Internet and FedEx.

Over three days and two pretty cheap hotels, we rolled down 101 to lower Oregon (via Cannon Beach, where I made sure the family summer rental was still standing, via the cheese factory where a good time was had by all, and so on and so forth), then across the state and back up 97 to Washington and eventually home.

Hey?!! Where's the cheese entry? I can't believe it. Apparently an entry has gone missing here. Drat. The burglary must have distracted me from posting it or something.

Even though I know the risks and have seen all the horror movies, we still picked up a passenger on the second day.

For a sign that starts out so inspirational, it doesn't quite deliver.

Same town, desperate for a restroom. We kept looking. Notice the ladies capacious underwear and the pile of human feces. Someone made me take a closeup of the latter, which I've generously not inflicted on you.

The house we rent in Cannon Beach: still lookin' good!

On the second day, we were going to go to the aquarium, but instead ended up playing on the beach and meeting this guy, who ended up sticking with us the whole trip.

It's a chair! It's free! We tried it out, but there just wasn't room to bring it home.

A theme of the few days is that we say every climate you can imagine. Snow, rain, forest, desert, mountains, ocean, plains, cows, hills, valleys, and suburbia. It gave the illusion of covering much more space than we actually did.

"Bad Rocky! What did I say about talking to those women on the corner! I don't care HOW long you can stay hard. Who's going to pay her?"

"Yeah yeah, give it a rest. I don't care how good a time you had, I'm still very angry."

Did I mention every climate you could think of? Here we are in Marlboro country.

Man, I'm spacing on the name of this town of 22 people, but it was awesome. It was playing up its kitsch value in the best way. Sadly, the lady at the general store was a little aloof and it took the tang out of my Runts.

The question is, how many pictures should one take of the Fake Stonehenge?

And then, how many should you admit to having taken?

Three is the answer to both. At least, it's the answer to the latter question and as such becomes your answer to the first question and don't let anyone force any other admissions from you.

"I want to be a real boy!"

We rolled home unexpectedly early on Sunday completely without the excitement of previous trips where the radiator gives out or a sudden storm makes crawling across the pass a harrowing experience.

And there were SO MANY BABIES. It must have been baby-having season in the animal kingdom, and it was just about the cutest thing you've ever seen at 75 miles per hour (90 if Mae was driving).

And as I pulled up to my house, the odometer rolled over to 99,000.